Falling in Love with the Man of My Nightmares (That's [Para]Normal #4)

by Camilla Evergreen

The surreal feeling snaps, and I remember how one interacts with people. My script is the same as it has been since middle school. How silly of me to forget. “I have to get back home soon. My parents are probably expecting me.”

Willow arches a brow. “So what you’re saying is you could have sandwiches with us if you lived with Pollux.” My heart hits my ribs. Alana pauses her rendition of whatever episode she’s on now to add, “Pollux has a whole bedroom ready for you.”

“Castor,” Alana greets, chipper, and my breath catches. Castor? This is Castor? Willow echos my thoughts in her own way. “Oh. So you’re Castor. Love the knife.” “Gratitude,” he murmurs, flips it, and catches it by the blade as though he’s not blindfolded at all. “You’re welcome to look at it.” Willow laughs. “Um. Yes. Don’t mind if I do.” My head spins as Willow trots up to the evil prince I’ve been warned about and plucks his knife from his hands. Holding the metal up to the light, she whistles at what appears to be a collection of screaming faces decorating the handle. “Super cute.”

“I hold nothing against you, child. I know better than to think he did not have you under some manner of oath. You have been nothing but kind and open with me in all our interactions. When I burn this world, I intend to spare you.” “Aw.” Alana giggles. “That makes me so happy.” Pulling one of the copies of the fantasy book out of Willow’s basket, she offers it to him. “Speaking of world burning, I got this for you, courtesy of my brother’s credit card.” Castor straightens. “Another book recommendation?” “I’ve been informed you can see, so read responsibly out of other’s sight.” A shining smile falls over Castor’s mouth as his head dips. “More kidnapping?” “Duh.”

“Is she Pollux’s?” “Maybe,” Alana says. Willow, still playing with the dagger, notes, “I prefer to think of it as Pollux is hers.”

Willow cackles. “Are you serious? You’re my new favorite person. Want to come to movie night? We’ll pick something that has accessibility audio.” Moments of chilling silence string themselves between Castor and Willow. Finally, she asks, “Do you like popcorn?” “I don’t believe you’re aware that you’re behaving inappropriately given the situation.” Willow cocks a hip and points the dagger at him. “I don’t believe you’re aware what plot armor is.” Some tension eases from his shoulders before he chuckles. “You have a marvelous friend, moth princess.” Alana’s wings flit as she smiles. “I know.”

“I really appreciate your help, Castor,” she says. “I never would have gotten this far without it.” Stillness consumes him for several beats, then he dips his head. “It was the least I could do for the first person to treat me like a person in centuries.” Clearly, there’s history here. Big history. Big history that I wasn’t a part of.

Extending his hand toward Willow, Castor states, “My knife.” “Are you sure I can’t keep it? Just imagine what my husband will think if I come home with a knife that smells like you. Ten out of ten good prank,” Willow protests. “A tempting thought. However, my plans don’t include losing my favorite dagger.” Past Alana’s wings, I see Castor slip his knife free from Willow’s fingers, bend, and touch a kiss to her cheek. “This will suffice in your efforts of mischief.” “Ha ha,” she says. “You’re in danger.” A hiss that shifts into a roar pours from Willow’s shadow before a monster feline half the size of a car wraps her close in his claws and tucks her away from Castor. Voice garbled due to the teeth pouring from his partially human, partially cat face, the creature says, “Leave.” “No one has a sense of humor anymore,” Castor mutters.

“Oh, for the love of marshmallows, Castor!” Alana snaps. “What did I just say about inappropriate jokes around new friends?”

“You should have called me the second you saw him,” Zylus mutters as he pissily constructs his sandwich from the various ingredients in front of me. “Alana’s stronger than you,” Willow informs him, merciless. “Alana is less trained than I.” Willow sips hot chocolate, daintily, out of a glass teacup. “She’s also friends with the poor lonely villain boy whose villain arc is somewhat dependent on a lack of acceptance, as far as I can tell. Shoving him further away from the hope that friendship is magic doesn’t help anyone.” Zylus slaps some plain mayo onto his bread. “He kissed your cheek.” “I know. Now I can mark starting a scandal with a villainous rake off my bucket list.” Zylus glares. Willow takes another little sip.

My thoughts wrap around those words as I find Alana’s eyes. She smiles at me. “Are you well, Kass? You’ve been processing, and you’re welcome to continue, but your voice is ready to be heard when you are ready to share it.”

Wow. That was so Cael it hurts.

Near every time I’ve spoken what I’m really thinking, I’ve learned that my voice is not ready to be heard. I am far too much for the average person to handle. So I bottle myself up into bite-size pieces.

Concern and worry make you compassionate. Fear is entirely unhelpful for others. So I think…I think I got rid of it along with everything else that was inconvenient for those around me. It’s this sensation—this knowledge—that I’ve chipped pieces of myself that belonged to a different universe off that makes me feel subtly nauseated right now. I have flushed so much of myself down the drain in an effort to appeal to strangers. I have become a husk with the sole purpose of making others around me safe, and comfortable, and happy. I was taught living selflessly was the correct way. The right thing to do. I was taught that harmless parts of my character were wrong. So now I’m tired, and my cup is empty, and I’m just angry. All. The. Time. Whether I let myself show it or not. Whatever I do now that has the appearance of kindness no longer comes from the heart. It comes from my systems, and my standards, and the façade I use to portray whatever it is someone else wants to see.

Zylus murmurs, “They won’t have the answer you’re looking for, Kass. They regularly abuse the powers they’ve been given access to.” “Are we bad people?” Alana asks. “I feel like we might be bad people. Is struggling with a vast moral dilemma how we were supposed to encounter magic? Was replicating Barbie dress transformations instead…wrong?” “No, no.” Willow plants a hand at her chin. “If Castor isn’t a bad person, we’re obviously delightful.” Alana mimics Willow’s position. “You present a valid point that does seem to be a reasonable assessment.”

Alana slaps the table. “Exactly. Sometimes the best we can do is stay alive. And you wanna know something?” Her gaze bores into my soul. “That is more than enough.”

The perfection, naturally, had less to do with the picturesque beauty of the unfathomable and vast display and far more to do with her. Kassandra. His soulmate. His wife. The answer to questions he’d pleaded with the universe about for so long. Her red curls flowed over the pillows of white she was lying in. Her chest rose and fell with soft breaths as she watched the sky above her. Her nightgown tonight undid things in Pollux’s brain, but he did what he could to ignore the silken hazel fabric as it shifted in tone with every sun shade reflecting off it. Beauty had no place being so simple a word. Its ability to describe such a scene fell so very short. It failed to convey a true rendition of the way just being here felt. Feeling Kassandra against his skin in every breath, stepping through fragments of her, indulging the taste of her soul as it painted the unnatural world into his flesh…

I am not here to craft nightmares out of the things you need to face.” “Would that help me?” He opened his eyes, traced the delicate emotions still damp in hers, and bent to place a kiss on her forehead. “Perhaps. But we are being cautious and taking things slowly.” “Why? Why not just get it all over with? Rip it off like a band-aid.” Pulling her hand away, she spread her arms at her sides. “Give me the nightmares. I’m ready.” “You’d have me run rampant in your mind?” “Sure.” “Then you’ll unlock the doors I need access to in order to effectively unravel you?” Her lips pursed, and her gaze snapped to him. “Hey, now. I didn’t say that.” Smiling, he lay beside her, let his nails graze her arm, and clasped her hand before drawing it to his heart. “Talk to me.”

She was going to give him a heart attack. He fought to get a breath in his lungs as heat boiled beneath his skin. Thoughts fled his mind. Steps. Actionable steps. Those were his favorite kind. All the better if they were numbered. But he… Right now, he just wanted to kiss her. He wanted to bury her in the clouds and toy with the hem of her nightgown until the slick sensation of the silk found its way into every minute that followed when he exited this plane. He wanted to abuse the trust her words were supplying him. He wanted to suggest he knew exactly how to make her feel better than she had ever felt before… Which, of course, was ludicrous, as he had never once toyed with the things his brain was entertaining now. “You can’t?” she asked. “I am removing my mind from unhelpful locations.”

“Ugh. I’m having a crisis, and you’re thinking about—” Breath filled her as she crossed her arms. “You’re the worst.” “You baffle me.” She glanced over her shoulder at him as he also rose. “I baffle you?” “Often, yes. This idea that you seem to believe you are not seduction itself to me and I am ‘the worst’ for the moments I can’t help but acknowledge that truth baffles me.” She glared, twisted toward him, and sneered. “Your love is fickle, and your priorities suck.” He gripped her chin. “My mind is weak to you, but never call my love fickle again. I have faced centuries alone without a scrap of hope. You cannot begin to comprehend how deep my love for just your existence goes.” He watched her swallow as her eyelids drooped. His heart tripped. “You… Are you…trying to provoke me?” “Keep talking, dreamboy.” Her fingers rose and fell against his wrist, barely hanging on. “You make it easier to pretend I’m not hurting so much.”

“The word for who I am when I believe I’m alone with a pretty figment of my imagination is skank, Pollux. We’ve been over this. I’d like to believe my true character is someone other than an affection-deprived adult.” “You continue to neglect my response to that degrading assessment.” “For your information, I’d be ashamed of wanting anyone. It has nothing to do with you.” He hummed. “When others hurt us, it rarely does.” “I’m sorry I hurt you.” “I’m sorry you’ve been taught that your needs and the rawest presentation of yourself are unacceptable.” She straightened. “Excuse me. You don’t need to go that far.” “I think I do.” He twisted her fingers out of his shirt, gripped her wrists in one hand, and pinned her back to the cloud. “If we get technical, I probably need to go farther.” Wide-eyed, she stared at him, lips parted. After a long moment, her body tensed, aware, and she snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?” “This is your domain. Nothing is out of your control.” He flashed a sharp smile. “Except me.” He could spend decades touching kisses to the heat that rose to her flesh. She locked her jaw, tilted her head back to look up at her restrained hands, then provided a meager tug against his hold.

“Rule two… Say what you mean.” She grimaced. “That goes over very poorly. It offends people, or causes me to share way too much information.” He dipped a kiss to her throat. “I love information. Try it right now.” “Nope. Absolutely I will not be doing that.”

“Tell me what you want. Who else is here to judge you or say it’s wrong? Come on, dearest.” He flicked his tongue out against her skin. “I’m your soulmate. I can’t lie. I will never seek to humiliate you. I adore you. I find every moment I’ve spent with you enrapturing. Practice with me.” “Isn’t this humiliating?” she whispered. “Does it feel that way to you?” Lifting his head, he pressed his forehead to hers, soaked in the heat of her, lost himself in her scent. “For which one of us? You are undoing me.” “This is going to mess me up in the morning,” she muttered. “Marvelous. If it does, come see me for breakfast, and we can continue outside this realm.” She shivered. He loved that. He kissed the tip of her nose.

“It starts with figuring out what the truest pieces of you look like. It starts—” He squeezed her wrists. “—with giving up a little control…in order to get a better grasp on what real control looks like.” She shrank. “Talk to me.” “I don’t…want to.”

“Should we trade places?” Her hands balled into fists as she dared to crack one eyelid. “What?” “So I can show you what it looks like to be utterly enamored and helplessly entranced? So I can tell you how much I enjoy it? So I can beg for more, because I love you, and your touch, and your attention, and everything you are willing to offer without any shame…because it isn’t shameful to be vulnerable in front of the right people…because the right people won’t hurt you or ask you to be different. To me, Kassandra, you are everything that is right—perhaps explicitly the pieces you find to be the most wrong

“Do you not trust me or something?” she murmured. “I trust your character, not your ability to navigate even more knowledge when you are already so heavily weighed down. I promise I am acting in an effort to protect you.” Her lips twisted. “From myself?” He combed his fingers through her curls. “From burning yourself out even more.” Cupping her cheek in his hand, he smiled. “I care far more about your well-being than about what you are capable of. I know the moment you understand what you can do, you will be looking for ways to use it for others. We’re focusing on you for now, okay, dearest?”

“What do you want, Castor? I’m not familiar enough with anything to be as brave as Alana and Willow are when they say you aren’t bad and treat you like one of their friends.” Castor stills, lifts his face. “They say that about me?” “They seem inexplicably fond of you, yes.” His teeth flash in a bright smile. “My villain girlies. I do quite adore them.”

“Morning!” I force my smile, because I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need to listen to Pollux’s rules…or worry my parents. Mostly that second one. I don’t need to worry my parents.

True, I never agreed to put Pollux’s rules into practice, but realizing exactly how often they would alter the way I act has me tasting sour with every bite and wanting to…cry. A little. At least. It’s my final day off. Maybe I should stress crochet something. Maybe I should stress crochet something for Pollux. Like…an angry bee. So he knows I’m not happy with this situation, but I also inexplicably want him to have something cozy to cuddle. Maybe I should stress crochet an angry bumblebee and appear without warning on his doorstep, frowning, because how dare he imply the smile I’ve worked decades on should be outlawed? The rude monster. The rude, beautiful monster. Who pins me to clouds… And says dreadful, wonderful things… That make me feel…some kind of way.

Being myself is hard when I don’t know who myself is. It hasn’t even been one day with Pollux’s words from last night’s dream in my head, yet I’m more exhausted than usual on a day off. He’s stripped me of the comfort I found in the things I use to cope, because—suddenly—those things are wrong. It makes me angry. As angry as the furious, foot-long, fat bee I am cradling as I march up his sidewalk to his stupid haunted house.

The door slams open before I get there, and I stop in place as the sound rattles the foundation of this whole place. Um. Crap. Maybe I should have called? “Kassandra,” he states, takes two steps to me, and cups my chin in his palm. “Uh. Hi.” “You smell like Castor.” My eye twitches. Double crap. I completely forgot Castor was in my bathroom this morning. At the very least, I flushed his phantom dust residue down the toilet? “Pardon me,” I say. “You could smell Castor on me from all the way inside your house?” He growls, “I am an evolved beast, Kassandra. Why have you met with Castor? Why has he touched your throat?” “I don’t know. He poofed himself into my bathroom this morning and asked me to lend him my powers. I told him to ask again once I knew what powers I even have, because then I might help him depending on the situation.” I shove the bee in his face. “You’re supposed to ask me why I’m holding an angry bee.” Taken aback, Pollux stares between the bee and me, opens his mouth, closes it. He composes himself enough to mutter, “I don’t know how the angry bee is relevant given the disturbing information you just provided. Castor should not be in contact with you, much less asking to use your magic.”

Pollux’s grip on my chin solidifies. “Alana and Willow are extremely interesting creatures. Do not emulate them or trust their behavior in the presence of a morally gray individual.” Right. Them’s villain girlies. Castor told me.

I shove my angry bee into Pollux’s chest. “If you don’t ask about this bee, I’m going to walk into the woods by Willow’s house and start calling Castor’s name.” “Don’t you dare.” I turn on my heel. He spins me right back around fast enough to make me dizzy. Then he removes the ground out from under me as he scoops me up into his arms and marches us inside. Alexios whistles as Pollux passes him at the doorway, so Pollux snarls before pounding up the stairs.

My head is still spinning by the time he sets me down in a perfect, lovely room with plush carpet, a large bed adorned in lace, and floor-to-ceiling skies painted on half the walls… The scenes surrounding me look so vaguely familiar they give me pause. I swear I saw the deep red shades of the clouds on one wall in my dream just last night. For the most part, the room is clean and vacant in a way that suggests it’s not been lived in yet. In a way that suggests it’s being prepared for someone. The second I find a tiny bee hidden among the clouds on one wall heat floods my b...

“I appreciate the clarification of your emotions.” He nods once. “But we can agree that imprisoning the person who has done nothing wrong is the incorrect response, can’t we?” I arch a brow. “If you so much as dare to consider it, you better include a library in the deal.” Pollux lights up. “I have a library. I can include a library. Is that all it takes? Consider it done. Shall I assist you in moving after school tomorrow?” It seems I’ve underestimated exactly what I’m dealing with here. “It’s a joke. I’m making a reference to Beauty and the Beast. The Disney movie. Specifically.” He searches my eyes, genuinely intent, then he says, “Which part was the reference?”

“Pollux. Ask me about my angry bee before I locate the nearest cliff and thrust myself off it.” “Is that…another reference.” “Pollux.” “Sorry. The bee. What am I supposed to ask about the bee, exactly?”

“I made this for you.” Pollux’s eyes go wide. “For me?” “Yes. To express my inside emotions when I fake my smiles.” His throat bobs as he covers his mouth. “When you fake your smiles…inside you’re an angry bee?” “Correct.” His eyes close. “Forgive me. That is too adorable for words, and it feels like my brain is shutting down.” I am going to stab him. And, yet, this is an appropriate reaction. Finally. Took a minute to get there, but I am pleased with the results.

My heart skips a beat as he wraps the bee up in a hug and shifts his gaze to me. “I adore you. I’d thank you, but I’ve yet to teach you how to take my soul, and it would be such a waste to say those words before you know how to use them.”

“You believe I’m overreacting?” “I believe your mate and those children will be thrilled to have an entire rink to themselves. How you got them to that end matters little.” Cael smiled, brilliantly. “But, yes, you are overreacting so extensively it’s adorable. It’s rare I get to see you ruffled.”

It has been a laborious four days of Pollux coming to school, bringing elaborate lunch boxes to share with my littles…and winning them over to his side. They love him. They love him as though he keeps candy in his pockets and passes it out when I’m not looking.

Practicing no longer faking so many smiles and saying what I mean has only led me to grouch at Pollux whenever we’re alone.

I lift the string of lights I’m holding. “Get over here so I can strangle you with these.” “Tempting, really. But we’re within earshot of your littles, so I’m not encouraged to encourage that kind of behavior.” My eyes go massive. “Pollux. That is extremely inappropriate.” Leaning closer, he says, “Choke me.”

“You should stay in here and think about what you’ve done while I go teach math.” “If I don’t stay near you, I may frighten a child,” he reminds me as he crosses his arms and peers down his nose at me. “Why don’t we go together and teach Chemistry instead?” “Did you come up with that one all by yourself?” He arches a brow. “No, I’ve been studying a book on human mating practices. There’s an entire section full of outrageous pickup lines.” He cannot be serious. I mimic his stance. “Women don’t like cheesy pickup lines, dreamboy.” “Shame. We’d be gouda together.”

Well, actually he’s so careful with almost everyone. He did, at Andromeda’s request, throw her onto the gym roof to get a toy Josh tossed up there on Tuesday. I am still coming to terms with the difference in durability between the fae children and the human children. Pollux, thankfully, is not. Because when Josh asked to be thrown onto the roof afterward, he said ha ha, no

Shaking my head, I turn away from Pollux before he can chew up even more of my perfect schedule. “Stop distracting me from math.” “You plus me equals—” “And burn your flirting book.”

Willow: Humans are not welcome at movie night. Zahra is. Take that however you want. See you both at eight. Shortly after seeing the last human child off, Zahra stares at the text Willow sent me once I found the courage to ask about bringing my friend. My friend, as in I did not name Zahra specifically when I asked. At this point, I’m not certain whether concern or offense is more appropriate. Like, how dare Willow know I only have one friend, and how dare she reference her by name? But also is it just a matter of time before she tells me she has my social security number? Brows low, Zahra purses her lips. “This message sparks joy. Pollux.”

From the couch in the main room, Pollux looks up off the book Andromeda is reading in his lap. The sight of them being adorable together does something to my chest, but I do my best to ignore the feeling.

Zahra continues, “Can he bite, bite, vampire me?” Pollux’s attention drags off me and goes somewhat thinner as it returns to Zahra. “What is it with human women and the desire to be turned by a vampire? Both Alana and Brittny asked that same question at one point. Does no one realize the health issues associated with such a request?”

“Your soulmate isn’t half bad. Why aren’t you in love with him yet?” The dubstep tune my heartbeat adopts does not fall within my usual music tastes. “I don’t think love is that simple?” “Sure it is. With a soulmate bond, it’s supposed to be instant. Instalove tropes for everyone. Kiss, kiss, fall in love

Mischief floods Andromeda’s eyes, making her tiny, wiggly, and wicked. “You can’t storm Uncle Cael’s castle right now, Zahr-Zahr. You’re not fully fae or claimed. Entering Faerie would make you go insane.” “How does one get claimed?” “With a kiss.” “Pollux, kiss me.” Pollux’s eyes go massive.

“Kid. You have not told me you can grow back limbs.” Andromeda closes her book and jumps up, ecstatic. “I can take them off, too. Wanna see?” “Meda, no,” Pollux states. “Absolutely I do,” Zahra notes. Baffled, Pollux corrects, “Meda…yes?” “Meda, yes!” she cheers, and she dislodges a femur. From this experience…I do not believe I will ever recover.